The site of the explosion in the historic Sultanahmet district in Istanbul, Tuesday, Jan. 12, 2016.STR/The Associated Press
The blast shortly after 10 in the morning reverberated for miles across the neighbouring districts and the Bosphorus Strait, all the way to the Asian side of Istanbul, a picturesque 20-minute ferry ride away.
It shook the ground under the feet of Mehmet, a local chestnut seller in his early 20s, who had left home in high spirits that morning. The warm, sunny weather, he hoped, would draw in the tourists and help him make a little extra money before a predicted snowfall later in the week. He said he was just a couple of hundred yards away from the explosion when it happened, although he was facing in the opposite direction and saw only its aftermath.
Then there was a pungent smell, like burning plastic, that lingered for more than an hour despite the wind, and smoke that filled Sultanahmet Square, home to several of the city's most prized attractions. A suicide terrorist, who authorities later said was either a Syrian or a Saudi national affiliated with the Islamic State, had detonated his vest next to a group of German tourists by the Egyptian obelisk. Ten died on the spot, 15 others were wounded, some critically.
In seconds, the merry din of tour guides lecturing and crowds taking selfies changed into the sights and sounds of a war zone: Heavily armed police with assault rifles descended upon the square (one police car overturned in the hurry to get there), followed by wailing ambulances and medics in white protective suits who came to pick up the bodies and body parts strewn across the cobblestones.
Despite quickly imposed restrictions on media reporting from the scene and the abundant police tape that, as of Tuesday evening, still prevented visitors from getting near, the news and the gloom spread quickly. In a city that depends heavily on tourism – the fifth most-visited city in the world, according to MasterCard's 2015 Global Destination Cities Index – such an attack in the beating heart of its tourist district counts among many locals' worst nightmares.
Germans were the largest national group of foreign tourists in Turkey in 2015. Russians were the second-largest group of visitors to Turkey until a loud spat between the governments of the two countries.
Like many others working in the popular tourist district, Mehmet was overcome by contradictory emotions while watching the tourists scatter in shock and hide in their hotels: gratitude to be alive and unharmed, and sadness at the possibility of having to find another job.
"I thank God I am alive," Mehmet said, reflecting on the attack on Tuesday afternoon, his full cart next to him in a small cobblestone street, a few hundred yards away from the nearest police line.
"[But] the war is here," he lamented. "It was already bad before, with the Russian tourists going away; now nobody will want to come here. Our livelihood is gone."